Buried Treasure Ch. 51-55

Spider Monkey's POV

I-5 North out of Los Angeles

I let Chase deal with the traffic while I focused on keeping all of us out of jail for the rest of our lives.

I'd had some time with Chase and his brother Sawyer while Carson was ferrying the men to the airport. I liked his big brother, he was calm in a crisis and didn't mess around. Our little liberation exercise was going exactly as planned until Vic was shot twice. We all were involved in a robbery that resulted in the deaths of seven men, and our car contained millions in cash. We went through everything that could tie us to the crime, one by one.

The first was the U-haul. Traffic cameras were the likely cause, so I hacked the system and froze the cameras during the times we drove from the staging area to the warehouse and back. We talked about extending the blackouts to when we returned the truck to the store. Sawyer thought that would just draw attention to what should have been a routine transaction; since I was the one picking it up, and I didn't look like I was knocking off a violent motorcycle gang, I should be all right.

"Will the clerk at the rental place remember you," Sawyer asked.

"Probably, but only because of the stories I told when renting and returning," I said. "If they don't have the license plate number to tie to the robbery, it will seem innocent enough. If they look hard at me, my fake identity will crumble. All it would take would be a visit to my 'apartment' that doesn't exist." They agreed, and I put my alternate identity back into the hidden compartment in my bag.

All of the guys were wearing black clothes, gloves, and hoodies, so even if a camera saw them, they wouldn't be able to identify them.

That left the blood. "With DNA, won't they be able to identify Vic," I'd asked.

"Doubtful," Sawyer said. "He's not in the databases because he has a clean record. We need to keep it that way. If he gets arrested and they take a sample, he is going to jail for a long time."

"What about if they run the blood samples through other databases? I saw some true crime shows where they are using sites like 23&Me to solve cold cases by identifying relatives to people who they have DNA samples of." I looked at both of them, and they looked at each other. "What about his family?"

"I'm pretty sure they aren't in the databases, but there isn't much we can do about it right now. When he's recovered, he can warn them not to use those services," Chase said. It didn't give me a warm fuzzy, but we couldn't go back and clean up his blood now.

The weapons they had used were packed and on the plane with them, and Sawyer promised he would take care of them. The full-auto weapons would result in a long spell in prison if seized, so they would end up in a very deep lake back home.

As we drove out of town, I took the Mariko's credit cards back out. Transferring money from reloadable Visa cards, I paid off the balance and closed the accounts. I canceled the insurance on Mariko's car, and donated it to a local charity. I sent a text to my friend with the apartment; the innocuous-sounding message told him to close out the mailbox and provide the key and title to the charity when they came. Before we hit Burbank, Mariko was a ghost again.

"How long is he going to be out," I asked Chase as I looked back at Vic lying in the back seat.

"A few more hours," he said. "We'll swap drivers and get gas and food when we get away from town a little. I need to check his chest tube and make sure his bleeding is stopped."

"If he was in a hospital, how long until he could go home?"

"At least a week," Chase said. "We'll have to trade off monitoring him, and we still have things to do. We hit the Sons hard today, but we can't let our boot off their necks."

"I have more ideas, but I don't want to use cell data out here. I'll wait until I get home," I said. "I have nothing going on, I could drive now if you want to read more of the files," I said.

"It's all right. We'll have plenty of time for research as we're holed up in your house. Can you take some vacation time, maybe call in sick?"

"I kind of did, I said my mother broke her hip and I was going to be out for a couple weeks," I said. It was as good an excuse as any for my sudden disappearance.

He reached in his pocket and handed me a digital thermometer. "Can you take his temperature? I need to watch for signs of infection."

"I bet, the back of a moving van isn't the most sterile surgical environment." I took the thermometer and lowered my seat back before unbuckling my belt. We were on a fairly straight section of road, and traffic was finally letting up as we got to the edge of the metro area. I moved our bags behind my seat, then climbed back on top of the bags of money that filled the area between the back and front seats. I climbed between, then laid down on the bags in front of Vic. I wiggled around, moving some of the loose bundles underneath me to make it more comfortable. I felt a little like Huell in Breaking Bad, taking a rest on the money pile.

I looked over at the man who I'd become close to in a very short time. He was such a big guy that his knees were poking the back of the passenger seat, while his head was tight to the door. I adjusted the blanket covering him, then put my hand on his face. He felt a little warm to the touch, and I turned the thermometer on and worked it under his tongue. While I waited, I pushed his salt-and-pepper hair off his temple, tracing the edge of his hair with my finger. I continued down, tracing the scars on his neck and down to his shoulders and chest. His body was scarred heavily, as I'd found in my explorations while I waited for him to recover for the next rounds. When I asked him about it, he was evasive; he said he had fought in several wars, but he didn't want to talk about it.

I traced the four parallel lines that carved from his left shoulder onto his chest, the raised scar tissue covering his pectoral muscle. So much pain in his life, and now he'd been shot twice. I hoped to God that he would be able to stop all this and settle down now that we had liberated all this money. I wanted to take this beautiful man to a beach, making love in a cabana as the waves roll in. No, better... one of those bungalows built over the water, with a thatch roof and windows open on all sides to the ocean breezes. A big bed, making love on the deck as the sun sets, diving in the waters, yeah, that's more like it.

The beep of the thermometer broke me out of my daydream. I pulled it from under his tongue and looked at it. "One hundred point four," I told him.

"Low-grade fever, that's to be expected," Chase said. "I need you to monitor his temperature for me. I gave him a dose of antibiotics, but if he spikes, I'll have to try a different one."

"Don't you know?"

"I can't exactly take him to the hospital, Spider. I have to deal with what I have in my bag for now."

I hated the thought of it going bad. There was nothing I could do while driving, so I pulled back the blanket from him. "I'm going to lie down with him, that way if he has problems or spikes a fever, I'll feel it," I said.

"Just be careful of his chest wound," he said as he looked in the mirror at me.

"Please, I'm just a tiny thing." I skooched until I was lying on my back, my legs in front of his and clear of his thigh wound. I pulled the covers back over us as I rested my head on his bicep. I moved his other arm over my waist and relaxed into him.

I fell asleep to the sound of him breathing.

"Spider, wake up," he said as he stopped the car. I opened my eyes; we were at a gas station. "Go use the restroom and buy some food and drinks for us. I'll pump gas then switch when you return; I don't want him alone out here."

"All right," I said. I sat up, turning to check Vic's forehead with the back of my hand. He didn't feel feverish, but I'd check when I came back. I moved back into the passenger seat, making sure Vic was covered up along with the bags, then got out and stretched. "Where are we?"

"Kettleman Station, we have another couple hours to your place," he said. He put a reloadable Visa card in the pump and started to fill it up.

"There's an In-N-Out burger over there, we should just drive through. There are few things in life I trust less than a gas station burrito." He laughed as started to clean the windshield. "I'll drive the rest of the way."

He had picked a gas pump at the far end of the station, not wanting people around, and so I hit the bathroom and picked up some Starbucks and a bag of sunflower seeds. He was just finishing as I got back out, so I got in and adjusted the seat way forward so I could drive it up to the entrance to pick him up. He messed with the bags in back so he could even get in my side, then I drove through and got us some tasty burgers, fries, and he got a big shake.

The drive back was pretty good, traffic picking up as we got closer to home, but we beat the late rush hour. News radio was full of stories about the raids this morning. We were saddened by the loss of the officers, and shocked that the leaders weren't caught. "Can we pull into your garage," Chase asked.

"I'll have to move my motorcycle," she said. It was a double garage, and I parked in front of the door. I got out and unlocked the side door, then moved my Harley in front of my Ford Focus. I went out to his car and soon had it parked inside with the door down. "How do you want to do this?"

"Leave the cash in the car for now; I'll get it after Vic is resting again. If you can grab my medical bag and open up the doors, I'll get him out of here."

"You can't carry him alone," I said.

"He's waking up," he said. I looked in, and his eyes were blinking open. "Easy, Vic. You're safe. We're back at Spider Monkey's place."

He opened his eyes, searching for me, then smiling when he saw me. "Baby?"

"Welcome back, Vic. Don't get shot again, you scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry," he said. It took a few minutes for Chase to carefully lift and pull him until he was standing naked on his good leg. I ran ahead, making sure the doors were open and the path was clear.

"Where do you want him," Chase asked.

"My bedroom, of course," I said. I ran ahead, turning down the sheets.

"Open the bathroom, I need to change his bandages and check the wounds first," Chase said.

"Good, because I have to piss like a racehorse on a flat rock," he said. After he used the toilet, I spread a towel on the vanity for him to sit on, then went back and closed everything back up. When I returned, Vic was grimacing as Chase used alcohol and cotton balls from my medicine cabinet to clean the blood from the gunshot wounds. "Damn that stings," he said.

"It beats an infection," Chase said. I handed him his doctor's bag, and he soon had him bandaged up again with a pair of boxers and a T-shirt on. He gave him more antibiotic pills and painkillers, then we helped him to bed. He was asleep in moments. Chase went back out to get the rest of the bags from the car, while I took a quick shower.

He had them stacked in the spare bedroom when I came out, wearing a Steel Ladies T-shirt and cotton shorts. "Feel better?"

"Much. I'm beat, I'm going to lay down with Vic for a bit, then I'll start working on the next form of our water torture."

"I think I'll take a shower too. I'll wake you up when it's time for dinner, I'll get something delivered."

"You need me to get you some cash for that," I teased.

"Funny. No climbing his tree until he's medically cleared," he said as he closed the door.

Ch. 52

DEA Director Frank Grimes' POV

Anaheim Home

By the time I got back home, I was exhausted. I'd been up for almost forty hours, the short naps on the plane hardly counting. The raid in Oakland and the revelations about the agents the Cartel bought would have been enough for the whole week, but then Chase showed up.

His information was a gold mine, and we'd acted on it. As I thought over the raid, I wondered if we had done the right thing by hitting all the Chapters in coordinated raids. The Sons behaved like they were warned of them, and they were ready. We'd lost good men, and that knowledge ate at me as I took my shower.

I didn't have any more answers when I got out, and it was almost noon. I was asleep seconds after hitting the pillow.

I woke to a banging noise on the door. "FBI AGENTS! OPEN UP!" I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, looking over at the clock. It was four-twenty and still light out, so it was the afternoon. I grabbed my glasses, pistol, and badge off the bedside table. I hung the badge by its chain over my head.

"COMING," I said. I pulled on the suit slacks I'd tossed on the chair when I got home and padded my way to the door. My back hurt, and I was exhausted, the combination becoming more common in my mid-fifties. I looked through the peephole of the door; there were two men there, both in FBI jackets with badges hanging. I set the pistol down on the table next to the door, then unlocked it. "What's going on, gentlemen?"

"I'm sorry we have to do this, Director Grimes, but we have a search warrant for your home. Please step outside." He handed me a piece of paper.

I looked behind them, there were two FBI Suburbans and a truck parked there, and a dozen agents were coming up the path to my porch. "What the hell is this about," I asked as I walked over to the hanging chair on my porch. As soon as I was out of the way, the people moved inside.

"GUN," one of them said.

"No shit? Gee, you'd think he was an agent or something," another man said.

I ignored them, looking at the warrant with my bifocals. The search warrant was based on phone records that showed I had texted an unknown number an hour before the raid, with the information of the start time. There wasn't much else, but I could guess.

The raid had gone south, and failure always meant finding the scapegoat. I'd just been volunteered.

Another man in a suit came up to me, it was my Deputy Director, Terry Jimenez, and he didn't look happy. "What's going on, Terry," I asked as he came up to me.

"The Director flew in this afternoon, and Justice and some other heavy hitters were with him. The State and County are raising hell, wanting to know why their men died. The Director has suspended you pending the results of an investigation into the events of the past day," he said. "I'm sorry, Frank, but this is becoming a shitshow. I have to take your gun and your badge."

I just shook my head. "It's the way it is, Terry." I pulled my badge over my head and handed it to him. "My gun is on the table just inside the door, if the FBI hasn't bagged it already."

He nodded. "The FBI and Justice want to talk to you. Can you come downtown with us?"

I looked down at the search warrant in my hand. "We're a little past that point now."

He looked at the agents already removing my computers and other stuff, all sealed in evidence tape and carried to the truck. "Yeah, I expect so. Everything is moving so fast; I can't believe they didn't even interview you before this."

"They must think they have enough already." I looked down at my wrinkled pants, bare feet, and wifebeater. "See what you can do about getting me some clothes plus my wallet, phone, and keys. If they aren't arresting me, I want to talk to a lawyer."

"You know anyone?"

"I've got a good idea." He handed me his phone, and I looked up the name of a lawyer I knew from his work defending an agent against an excessive force complaint. He specialized in law enforcement officers facing criminal charges. Five minutes later, I had an appointment with him at six at his office downtown. A few minutes after that, Terry led me back to my bedroom with an agent watching my every move. I shaved and put on deodorant, then dressed in a suit and pocketed my stuff. The agents had checked it all before I put it on.

As we walked out, I pointed at the key hanging near the front door. "That's the extra key, lock up when you're done," I told him. "Try not to wreck too much."

"I'll do what I can, but I have my job too," the FBI man said.

The search of my car was already over; I didn't keep much in it. I unlocked it as Terry shifted nervously. "The office is yours, Terry. Take care of it," I said as I stuck out my hand to him.

He shook it. "For now. This shit will blow over, and you'll be back in charge again."

"I don't think so. I'll be in tomorrow to clean out my desk and file my retirement papers. It's about time I spent some time with my grandchildren."

"I hope they are coming out here, boss. North Dakota in December is a frozen wasteland."

My son was a pilot in the Air Force, flying B-52 bombers out of the Minot Air Force base. He was three years out of the Air Force Academy and had nine years left on his service commitment. The B-52 he flew was older than I was, but it was still a formidable plane. Since they only fly out of Minot or Barksdale AFB in Louisiana, he'd chosen to get the winters out of the way early. He was married and had twin daughters that were now ten months old. "It's about time I spent some time with them. Let the Director know for me? I just... I was thinking about doing it soon anyway, and I don't want to leave you in a bind, wondering if I will come back."

"Sure thing. I'll see you tomorrow." I drove off, heading downtown. Traffic sucked, and I was running late by the time I arrived at the office building. I walked into his reception, where a striking young lady smiled at me. "Hi, I'm Frank Grimes," I said to her.

"Ah, Mr. Grimes, I'll let Thomas know you are here." She spoke into the phone, then escorted me into the twentieth-floor office of Thomas Carpenter. I gave him a summary of my day, and signed a form and a check for his retainer. This defense wasn't going to be cheap. Four hundred dollars an hour adds up real quick.

Over the next two hours, I laid out everything to him. I didn't have to hide what happened since attorney-client privilege protected me. "Can I summarize," he finally said.

"Of course."

"The Sons of Tezcatlipoca found out the name of your friend and former undercover agent and killed him and his wife, then expanded the war to the Steel Brotherhood by going after their daughter, then the Clubhouse. Chase Nygaard approached you with a deal; he would get you information that would allow you to take down the Sons while keeping the Brotherhood from escalating this into a gang war. He came through, giving you information on the drug pipeline through Oakland, then offshore financials that tied all the chapters to the drug trade. Correct so far?" I nodded. "The Oakland raid went off perfectly, but Chase asked you to give him a heads up before raiding the Long Beach clubhouse because he had an asset there he needed to get out of the way."

"That's what he told me, and I believed him. We've never been able to turn one, but he's not a cop."

"Do you know what he is? Why he would have such reach?"

I shook my head. "I'd never met him before Orlando. What I do know is that the Brotherhood trusts both of them. He had resources we didn't, and the information he provided proved that. Our accountants lit up like Christmas trees when they started looking at the bank statements he provided, and everything about the drug pipeline was confirmed. I'm not involved in investigating the compromised law enforcement agents, though, so I don't know how accurate that was."

"Well, let's just say that you aren't the only agent looking for a lawyer right now." He picked up the search warrant. "They've already executed a search warrant on your phone. Is there anything else on there I should worry about?"

"No, all the information Chase sent me came as a text and I forwarded it. We never spoke directly; when I met with him after returning from Oakland, it was because he was waiting for me on my front porch. Since I sent him the text with 'go time 0600' I haven't heard from or spoken to him."